


mulled over

by ozarkhowler



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human AU, M/M, Roderich is jewish and Antonio is just flat-out bitter, jewish!Austria, tw for nosebleeds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:47:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9002230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozarkhowler/pseuds/ozarkhowler
Summary: Antonio hates Christmas. Roderich lives next door and doesn't celebrate it. Hilarity ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

There is one season and one season only that Antonio is not sunny in.

 _Seasonal depression,_ they said, as if his so-called attitude problem wasn’t that every damn year around wintertime he was single or alone in some other fashion. He’d sit in front of the heat lamp and take Vitamin D supplements but it didn’t change the main issue:

Antonio fucking hated Christmas.

Antonio had a Pavlovian rage response to Christmas music. If he saw a Christmas tree he fought the urge to dispose of it by swallowing it whole, flossing his teeth with the light wires and burping up shards of glass.

“What’s your problem with it anyway?” Francis had asked when he’d found this out, specifically after Antonio had refused an invitation back to Francis’s apartment for a party celebrating exactly that dreaded holiday.

“There’s not much point in celebrating family when you don’t have any.”

“You have your brother. Aren’t you Catholic?”

“He doesn’t really feel for it either. It’s awkward if it’s only me and him sitting around without talking about the whole bit when our parents gave us up to foster care at ages seven and six. What does my Catholicism have to do with my Christmas spirit?”

“I don’t know--”

“It’s a holiday that puts way too much emphasis on being rich and being children with parents. And we’re neither of those things. When I was a kid I spent a lot of time watching all these commercials and stories about people getting big presents and I went home to whatever foster family Adão and I were with and it was just awkward. It was always awkward. And that’s how I feel about Christmas. Awkward.” _Awkward_ didn’t cover it, but he was blanking on the English equivalent of _agriado_.

“It’s just a party.”

“I’ll be busy that night, anyway. Have fun without me, though?”

Francis’s mouth curled into a tight little bow.

“I will.”

Antonio got home and checked his phone to see that Gilbert had gotten back to Berlin safely, sending a selfie with one of his three dogs. The caption read _this is Aster and he has better eyebrows than you._

His phone started pinging: Gilbert was FaceTiming him.

“Hey!”

Gilbert had flipped the camera to show all three dogs sitting neatly in a row.

“ _Seid ihr bereit? Alles klar. Singen!”_

All three began to howl in unison, blowing the speakers on Antonio’s outdated iPhone so that all he heard was static. The noise finally died down and Antonio saw Gilbert’s disembodied hand throwing all three treats before flipping the camera back.

“How’s the flat now that I’m gone?”

“A little too big, Gil.”

“I _told_ you that you should just come up with me and Ludwig. My dad wouldn’t care, he knows I have a roommate for uni, he knows about…”

“That I’m a filthy street urchin?”

“I mean I wouldn’t say it like that.”

Antonio laughed, dropping his cheek into the palm of his hand and bracing his temple against his fingers.

“It’s fine, Gil, I’m fucking with you.”

Gilbert had clearly been speaking nothing but German since he’d left and his accent had a lot to show for it.

“Are you going to go to that party of Francis’s?”

“He just wants to show off his boyfriend to a bunch of people, Gil. I don’t see the point in going when we were fucking before. I know who he is.”

“Antonio, that’s not the _point._ ”

“I have things to do anyway,” he said, quietly pushing his laptop running one tab of TETRIS, one tab of Netflix, and two tabs of things he didn’t want to disclose out of view.

“Okay, whatever. Just…I know sometimes it’s awkward for you to have one on one time with people, but for every three times you refuse an invitation from him you need to accept at least once.”

“ _Fine.”_

“Any nonsense from the neighbors?”

“I think Taylor Swift down the hall got broken up with again.”

“The world’s loneliest cryptid.”

“Taylor Swift”, of course, was not the multiple Grammy-winning songstress in the flesh, but was someone on their floor who seemed to constantly be getting into relationships and getting out of them with the same level of intensity. You could tell exactly what was going on in their sex life by the quality of music coming out from under their door. Antonio had never gotten a look at them other than the occasional glimpse of a shock of dark hair in contrast with alarmingly pale skin.

“I have no fucking clue how he fit a piano into his apartment,” Gilbert continued.

“I just want it to stop.”

A voice called from Gilbert’s side of the screen and he looked back at Antonio sheepishly.

“I gotta go, but take care of yourself, okay?”

“You know I will.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

And just like that, Gilbert was gone. Antonio sighed before getting up to walk to the window. Adão had gone off to his girlfriend’s house for the holidays. He had places to be. Everyone had places to go.

_Where’s your place, Toño?_

He didn’t know where he belonged, propping his legs up on the back of his couch and scrolling through Facebook before clicking on some video of a dance troupe somewhere in Asia—

Wait, the fuck? That was good choreography? _He_ could do that. I mean…not to say he was _bad_ at dancing, but he was no professional.

He had a bit of an issue pushing the furniture around while refusing to take his socks off, but he managed to clear out a space in his apartment all the same.

More than anything, he was excited to be doing a dance that wasn’t choreographed to a Mariah Carey song that was not going to be named.

Adão didn’t dance. _Toño dances, I sing._

Antonio was a bit out of practice; over the past few weeks the most exercise he’d been doing was impromptu yoga poses in his lecture hall chair. But he managed.

_They should pay me for this—_

He was managing until the floor decided to pull him down by the sock-crested pad of his foot for a kiss.

He had not been able to avoid his face connecting with the hardwood.

He was doctoring the nosebleed when someone knocked on his door.

He answered having not shaved in three days and covered in his own blood. This was surprisingly common.

“Can I help you?” he asked in his brightest English before his eyes connected with his brain and he began to understand who was standing at his doorstep.

_It’s Taylor Swift. He’s real. Gilbert said he was real but he’s actually real._

He was tilted. Everything about him seemed to be leaning at an angle; slightly crooked, thin mouth and a lopsided pair of ears that caused his glasses to look slightly askew. His hair was slicked back and Antonio noticed how small and line-filled his forehead was. His hairline was slightly receding. 

Antonio then realized that Taylor Swift was talking and utterly unfazed by Antonio’s appearance.

“Could you repeat that? Sorry.”

“I said my girlfriend just left me two days ago, I can only play so much Liszt, and the only alcohol I have in my apartment is the Manischewitz designated for one night hence. Therefore, I am going to go to the Christmas market and get blasted on mulled wine. It’s what Yeshua would have wanted. Do you want to come with me?”

“Isn’t Manischewitz for Passover?”

“ _How observant._ Let me ask you this: do you think I come from the type of Jew to give a damn?”

Antonio wiped his nose, which had begun to bleed again.

“I expected something else for Chanukah, is all.”

“Lots of people ask us about it to the point where as a brand of self-irony, we drink it at every special occasion. Are you coming?”

“Are you inviting me to a non-denominational Christmas market?”

“Yes. Again, are you coming or not?”

Antonio suppressed a grin, pinching the bridge of his nose before ducking back into his apartment.

“Let me change.”

"Or don't, I hear red is festive!" 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

In hindsight, Antonio had no fucking clue as to how they’d managed to get an entire pot of mulled wine in their possession. Actually, he knew how: fifteen minutes into their “crawl” of the market, Antonio had bet fifty pence to a shop boy that Roderich (that was Taylor Swift’s real name) could lift the pot; Antonio hadn’t expected Roderich to grab it and bolt, however. Roderich was much stronger than he looked and had handed it off to Antonio with a freakish casualty after making it far enough from the booth. The real miracle, besides Roderich being able to lift that pot, was that nobody stopped them from physically taking the pot from the market to Roderich’s apartment.

The juxtaposition of the old antique furniture and the quality of the actual apartment was striking; he didn’t know you could cover up a leak with a cross-stitch that said “HASTE MAKES WASTE”. He didn’t know why he found the imposition of a fancy piano next to the gross, small kitchenette so endearing, either, but it struck him anyhow.

“This,” gestured Roderich at one framed painting and trying desperately to seem sober, “…is a forged Ernst.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yeah it is.”

“Who forged it?”

“The Great Beltracchi.”

“You liar. Those paintings sell for thousands of dollars.”

“My dad was an art dealer, bought it in the eighties, realized it was forged and useless after examining the paint, and put it in his basement instead of his gallery.”

“Why didn’t he resell it when Beltracchi went to trial?”

“Because my father is a man of pride and admitting that he bought a forged painting would have meant that he didn’t know enough about art to know that Ernst didn’t paint nonsense like this.”

“Ah.”

Roderich pulled the cover down over the piano keys so he could sit at the bench and rest his head on the cool wood. Antonio was mesmerized by the disconnected expression on his face.

You learned a lot about a person in their apartment drinking mulled wine directly out of a stolen pot.

“I should play…I should play something. I should ideally play something that’s not Liszt.”

“I agree,” said Antonio, sitting crosslegged on the floor and leaning against one of the legs of Roderich’s piano. He ladled wine directly into his mouth, thinking that Roderich would somehow not notice. Roderich inhaled through his teeth before saying something in German and Antonio ceased.

“Are there Chanukah songs?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Well, are there?”

“It’s not Chanukah yet. Can’t sing anything until the candles are lit or else it would just be strange.”

“Well…”

“I know you don’t like Christmas—“

“How the hell does everyone know that?”

“I heard you yelling about it to your roommate a few weeks ago. Very Ebenezer of you, I must say. Would never expect it.”

Antonio scratched his back on the piano leg like a bear.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Is there a not-Christmas song?”

Antonio hesitated.

“Is there an anti-Christmas song? Does one of these exists?”

“You mean _those_ and _exist_?”

“You must forgive me, you see, because I am Spanish and I am also fucking drunk.”

“I am also drunk, you fucking _goose._ And no, I think there are any _proper, good_ ones. Not off the top of my head, anyhow.”

“We will have to compose one,” said Antonio. “Is piano like guitar? Do you have three chords you can play that make up most songs?”

“Well, I can try. Give me more wine.”

Antonio obliged, ladling some into a chipped mug that was probably elegant once. He began to drum on his knees as Roderich began plunking out _something._

Roderich was stunned to hear that Antonio actually had a rather pretty singing voice.

_Oh, God, I hate Christmas._

_It’s too cold, just leave me alone?_

_Santa Claus can fucking kiss this._

_I will pay you, go away, no need for a loan._

Roderich was biting down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing.

 

_Snow is not wonderful, I do not feel merry_

_Get me a beer and stop talking to me_

_I wear your ugly sweater, I look like a fairy_

_I shan’t rock around your Christmas tree!_

Antonio was tooth-achingly sweet, eyes closed while he was singing, and Roderich was thankful he wasn’t relying on sheet music so he could keep stealing glances. He had a face that was just starting to not be round; chin square and cheeks full, covered in apricot fuzz. Someday there would be stubble, Roderich was sure. It didn’t stop him from wondering if Antonio’s face was soft or rough to the touch.

 

_If one more person asks me about a girlfriend_

_I will castrate myself with a lawn ornament_

_What about a boyfriend, Rosa?_

_Nothing fucking rhymes with ornament_

“Maybe tournament?”

Antonio made a face before amending his lyrics:

 

_What about a boyfriend, Rosa?_

_That I met at a football tournament._

_WhoIbonedinthepublicrestroomAveMaria—_

“You could do better,” said Roderich, looking immediately back at the keys before Antonio took another breath.

 

_Snow is not wonderful, I do not feel merry_

_Get me a beer and stop talking to me_

_I wear your ugly sweater, I look like a fairy_

_I shan’t rock around your Christmas tree!_

 

_And there is a war on Christmas_

_Red and green is not as proudly displayed_

_What about Chanukah, you dipshit?_

_There actually was a war, and you weren’t dismayed?_

 

Roderich finally laughs enough for his playing to slow rather than falter; Antonio’s face pressed into the cold wood of the piano to hide his blushing. He kept going because he found himself wanting Roderich to laugh harder:

 

_La la la, fuck capitalism,_

_Lalala lala, I am tired,_

_Lalala lalalalala, we all know your marriage is crumbling,_

_Lalala, don’t drag me into it, por favor,_

_Lala, lala, Santa isn’t real andifhewashe’dbeacunt_

_Lalala, lala la, I’m drunk,_

_Lala, LALA, I’m gay,_

_LALA, LALA—_

“Can I kiss you?”

Antonio stopped.

“Is that why you got me drunk?”

“No, it was because you’re the only person on this floor who is my age, is attractive, and hasn’t switched my doormat out with a bread pan full of canola oil in a petty fit of jealousy.”

Antonio’s head tilted off of the piano leg and he squinted. Roderich had never felt more scrutinized over four words in his entire life.

Antonio then got up on his knees and kissed him. Even though Roderich had asked him to, he still stiffened, not moving to hold Antonio’s face in his hands until this had been going on for a good five seconds.

“Is that what you wanted?”

Roderich stood up and Antonio followed suit, suddenly feeling his pulse in his nose and briefly fearing that it would begin to bleed again.

“Yes, it is, so why did you stop?”


End file.
